Balance
by Maggie Grey
Summary: He has endured much since he was taken by the First Order. Tortured both mentally and physically, all meant to turn him into the next most feared being in all the galaxy- and he almost caved. Now he is running from the First Order, searching for his sister, and attempting to maintain stability within the madness he has obtained due to the harsh treatment of him by the First Order.


Ba. Ba, ba, Dadah dah. Ba Dadah dah. DAH! DAH! DAH! DAH! So let me start by saying this is my first ever Star Wars fic, even attempting one and this is more of a pilot/test chapter. I truly hope I don't mess anything up too badly, though I am most likely going to make a few errors. I myself am a huge fan, but was rather disappointed when Episode 7 didn't go with the comic books. I decided not to either in order to work with what Episode 7 gave me. Of course, there are going to be recurring characters, but a couple I made up. If I get any facts incorrect that you believe are worth correcting, kindly message me or drop it in a review and I will quickly tend to the error. So, here goes nothing.

* * *

There never was much of anything. Not in the beginning and certainly not now. The air was almost too hot to breathe and too dry to feel, but the suns in the sky were scorching. It was always hot upon the desert planet, always the furthest thing away from paradise. And yet, beings still lived there and refused to complain. They went about their daily routines as if the suns meant nothing and the dryness did not exist. They refused to believe that their planet was a burning waste.

He didn't, however. He knew it too well and he often contemplated on why he had settled on such a place. Perhaps it was a family calling, maybe just a quick thought of escape, or perhaps it was the pull of something much stronger ... something much more powerful than even he knew. Power was always what they were after. That, and information and status. He learned that the hard way.

He grazed his hardened fingers across the bottom of his nose, expecting to feel a small trickle of blood coming down from his nostrils. He was so used to that feeling, so used to the taste when it would slither between his lips and into his mouth. Lips ... ah they were chapped. It was so hot. Nothing was on his face besides the sweat his body produced, but even that would be sucked up by the suns in seconds. There was no moisture, no breeze. Just heat and dryness.

Blisters had well developed on his feet since he came here some years ago. Calluses between his fingers and embedded in his palm. Just one palm. The other was incapable of creating calluses or skin. It was rotting, too. The poor excuses he called scraps were something less than that, even less than trash. It was as if the suns' forces were pulling at whatever made the weak pieces of metal stick together, leaving nothing but shattering pieces and chipping bits. He examines his hand, remembering briefly back to the day he lost it, but the memory stung and- if he were honest with himself- he wasn't sure if the memory was even real.

What was real in his head? What was fact? What was manipulated? Were the voices real? Were the things he saw? He couldn't answer his own questions, and often found himself making irrational reality checks. A countless amount of times in various different languages he would ask, "This is Tatooine, right?" He had to make sure. It could be any other planet; it could have been Tatooine, could have been Aquilae, but heck, it could have possibly been Jakku. Counting the suns or the moons, looking at the locals; those were irrational thoughts to him. Simply asking, well, that made more sense. His sense was not on equal level as others, though.

He sighs, running his skinned covered fingers over his chipping metallic ones. He desperately needed the replacement, but slavery did not pay well on the planet. In truth, the scrap metal hand he had constructed upon crash landing on the planet, building it from scrap parts his owner allowed him to keep, was more of a place holder, really, for the limb he lost. He needed more parts, or else there wouldn't even be the comforting illusion of a hand; rather, just a nub where the limb should be.

The sun would be setting soon, his owner having released him early from his services for he was in a 'generous mood,' but the young fellow knew better. Extra work would ensue the following day. Back breaking work. Back breaking work that was probably all for nothing. Often he contemplated on how he could leave. He thought of many escape plans, but he knew of his slight insanity and irrational thinking. He knew the chances of him constructing a real plan were slim to none. Still, it was nice to dream.

He could see himself in that moment, flying away through the skies and into the stars, a destination of nowhere in mind, but wherever the ship should take him. Perhaps, he allowed himself to think for a moment, he could tinker with one. Surely his owner would not mind if he did it in his spare time with scrap pieces that would find their way into the junkyard anyways. An old ship that no one would miss. It wouldn't even have to be big or fit more than two persons. A small, compacted ship would be enough for him. To fly away, far from this place ... he smiles upon the thought. Ah ... what a dream, but he is abruptly and harshly yanked back into reality.

 _You must stay focused,_ the most prominent voice tells him. _Focused on the task before you. You shall leave soon. I know how badly you want to go. Trust me, I know, but patience. I beg of you. Patience._

And it was that voice that had gotten him this far. Without this invisible guidance, he would not be here. He would be elsewhere in the galaxy, dressed in black instead of beige, swinging a red weapon in his hand. No, he'd rather not. That is the very thing he always dread of becoming. He refused to let himself sink into the mold ... though he _almost_ did. He almost fell. He almost caved. And almost was too close to forever for him. It was that voice overpowering all the others that saved him. That one lone voice that had him betray those that believed in him, worshipped him, expected great things from him; that one voice prevented him from being painted far too dark.

"Patience," he mutters to himself as if to convince himself that he could withstand the harsh conditions of Tatooine just a bit longer. His patience was running out. "I shall leave soon. Soon, but first; patience." He takes in a deep breath, feeling the blood begin to seep between his toes, his feet aching in pain, but he had learned to ignore it. And besides, this pain was nothing but a dream compared to the nightmares that lingered behind him; and sometimes interrupted his sleep at night.

The city- the small and rare city- was slightly crazed at night with those that had lost track of the fading suns being replaced by the three moons. They stuck to their usual banter and harsh talks, saying words of repulsive nature in their mother tongues, but he walked passed them, ignored them with a setting in mind. A place of meeting. Criminals had consumed the planet, even after the previous ruler's unexpected passing. No new leader was ever presented to the planet's inhabitants, and so it had just fallen into a barren wasteland with gangs the center of the circus tent and the other far less powerful ranks as the side shows. Complete madness. You couldn't show fear or discomfort when passing by anyone, which worked well in his favor. He was never good at expressing true emotion.

The walk through the city's roads was harsh enough, even with the suns beginning to set, but the harsh slurs and sinister in nature words were nearly spine chilling. He walked on, eyes locked on target as the one he had agreed to meet that day stood just outside the small shop of spare parts; like so many other places on the planet. Hood was up and he found himself wondering how anyone could be wearing a hood on such a place. In any case, he approached with a warm smile and the favor was returned.

"Hi, Sky," the hooded young man said with tempered enthusiasm. The two have known each other for some time- thank goodness for that. Kaiden was about the only person he believed he could trust on this planet. Kaiden and the voices.

The young slave stopped before Kaiden, who had removed his hood and pulled his sack towards his front instead of having it continue to hang off of his back. "I found the piece you were looking for," Kaiden says as he searches his bag, pieces of metal clinking together as he does so. The slave just waited in patience, easing his thoughts an attempting to silence the overlapping voices. "Here it is!" Kaiden says in glee, removing a small, silver circular piece from his sack and offering it up to the slave, who accepted the offer, admiring the piece of metal.

"Yes, this is perfect Kaiden," he speaks with caution, making sure he did not stutter on any words or stumble upon speech. "Thank you very much. You have the other thing I asked for too, right?"

Kaiden snapped his fingers, the thought just dawning upon him. "I nearly forgot," he says before going back into his sack and searching some more. "I must admit, Sky," he speaks, though his words are muffled due to the obstruction of the sack nearly over his head, "this request was a bit bizarre, but I never considered myself one to question my customers," he removed his head and hand from the sack, showing the slave exactly what he desired besides escape, "or my friends."

The slave took the black gloved hand from Kaiden's, it being in the best condition he could ever hope to get it in without being completely damaged. "How did you get this?" the slave cannot help but to ask as he examines the wired, mechanical hand.

"Same place I got your other request," Kaiden responded easily, as if the answer was obvious; even to a semi-insane being. "I told you, Sky, I have connections when it comes to collecting objects. Even from places on the other side of the galaxy. That wasn't easy, neither was your prior request, but I always come through. You will too when the time comes, right?" Kaiden raised a nervous brow while the slave turned his disoriented gaze from the hand to the light eyes of Kaiden. "You will take me with you when you leave this place, right?"

The slave smiled sadly, as if offended that Kaiden would need reassurance of the deal they had made, and how he intended on keeping up his end of the bargain. The slave rested a tender hand upon Kaiden's shoulder and nodded his head once. "I would never leave you behind, Kaiden," he said. "You're about the only family I got. Well ... besides the one other."

"Yeah ..." Kaiden says uneasily, "... besides the one other." He looked to the slave's head in slight disgust, knowing very well that since the day the young fellow had crash landed on Tatooine, he had words of different pitch dancing around his mind, though he did seem to understand what he was doing most of the time. Kaiden had seen the things that the slave has built, constructed or repaired. He knew how intelligent the slave could be for a slave and insane being; he has witnessed it first hand. And despite the talk of ghosts and vengeful spirits of the sand or what not, Kaiden knew for a fact that there was something bright illuminating in the slave's head. He just had to be patient.

"Thank you, Kaiden," the slave said, slipping the metal tube and hand into his own sack and preparing to leave, but it was the voice of Kaiden that had stopped him.

"Sky," Kaiden called, turning the slave's attention back to his friend. "Are you okay?"

The slave managed to tie up one corner of his mouth as if to show he was fine and provide a sense of continuity for Kaiden that he would be just fine. "We'll be out of here soon, Kaiden. I promise."

The scavenger only nodded as the slave turned and began to make his way elsewhere, entering the crowd of shuffling gangsters and murderers, keeping his head down and holding his own sack tightly in his clutches. It was best not to make eye contact with anyone. A simple excuse of 'I didn't like the way he looked at me' was often used when explaining away some dead body in the middle of the street. The slave continued onwards, muttering to himself as he went, speaking to his head.

"I keep telling Kaiden soon. He will stop believing me. Stop doing these favors for me and find his own way off of this planet."

 _Kaiden is a true friend of yours,_ the main voice replied inside the slave's head. _He will not abandon you. Not unless you give him a good enough reason to. Never do that. Never give him a reason to leave you because then you'll do something you'll regret._

"Keep putting off our exit from this place seems like reason enough," the slave muttered. "He is desperate to leave. As am I."

 _And as was I. You are leaving soon. I promise, but you can't leave without a ship and your escape pod is beyond repair. That will take you several decades to fix, and we don't have that kind of time._

"No kidding," the slave scoffed.

 _Trust me. If you want to leave, you have to do it properly. This is the proper way. You need a new hand, and now you've got one. You need a weapon; yours is nearly complete. After that, all you need is a ship, but those are hard to come by unless..._

"Unless?"

 _Unless you bargain for one._

The slave rolled his eyes. "I have nothing to bargain."

 _You have the pod._

"That's like a thousand years old! Pod racing may still be popular on this desolate planet, but no one is going to want a pod that is over a hundred years old. The thing probably doesn't even run anymore."

 _Oh, it does. It just needs some fixing up._

"How do you expect me to get enough money to repair the pod to pawn the pod, and get enough money from the pod to pay for a ship?"

 _Pawn the pod? Who said anything about pawning the pod?_

The slave stopped in his steps and searched for his next words carefully throughout his clattered and over crowded mind.

"Then how is the pod meant to be bargained?" He continued walking, nearly at his next destination.

 _The pod won't be bargained. Your victory in it will be._

He stopped. "My what in the who now?"

"Sky!"

The slave jumped back into reality as his name was sternly called in the language of Huttese. Slightly startled, the slave pushed back the voices as far into his mind as possible, looking towards the creature he had bargained with earlier that week. He never enjoyed doing business with gangsters or crime lords, but parts were needed if he wanted off of this planet, and he saw it as his only escape.

"You were doing it again," the dug continued.

"Doing? Doing what?" the slave asked playfully back in the language he did not normally speak.

"That thing when you mutter to yourself." The dug and several of his companions under the small almost tent like shop laughed in hysteria as the slave merely sighed and looked downwards in self shame. Yes, he knew it was odd and strange and ... well ... just not normal. But talking to "himself" his gotten him places he would not have been able to get to alone, and so- no matter the shame or embarrassment it caused- he would continue to speak to the voices and listen to them.

He spoke up above the laughter, speaking the harsh language of Huttese, nearly tripping on his own tongue as he did so. He never believed it to be one of the more beautiful languages the voices taught him or he had taught himself. "I am here for the parts I asked for," he said, and the laughter died down.

The dug reached under the small counter top and dropped a small sack onto the surface of it, having the metal inside clank together. The slave opened up the sack and began to look through it, pleased with what he was given.

"This is everything," he said softly in Basic, feeling his escape of the harsh planet growing nearer and nearer with every bargain and every deal he made. Parts were more important than water to him, at the moment, and parts is what Tatooine had an abundance of. He removed the agreed amount of payment from the hidden spot in his boot onto the counter, and went to take the sack of parts, but the dug snatched it back before the slave could take them.

"No, no, Sky," the dug continued in Huttese. "Prices for the parts went up, and so does your payment."

Nearly devastated, he forced himself to keep it together and speak as calmly as he could in the Huttese tongue. "We agreed on this set payment," he argued cautiously. "This is all I have. I nearly had to sell everything I owned. I had to get parts to sell parts and my owner barely allowed me to work extra for any parts this past month."

"Well your sob story seems genuine," the dug replied, "but so does mine. Prices went up and so you have to pay more. You want the parts, its double."

"Double?" The slave raised his brows in shock and sorrow. "But I don't have that-"

"Then it looks like you won't be getting these parts," the dug laughed, his companions doing the same. "Go on, Sky. If you can't afford them, then leave." And when the slave went to take the original payment back from the counter top, the dug took that as quickly as he had grabbed the sack of parts before. "And I'll take this as payment."

"For what?" the slave asked.

"For wasting my time," the dug replied, and he and his friends went back into laughter as the slave turned, preparing to walk away.

 _You need those parts._

"I can't afford those parts," he whispered back towards the ground in Basic.

 _You need them. If you want off of this planet, you need those parts._

"I'm not really in the condition to take them."

 _You and Kaiden need them._

Sighing, the slave knew what the voice was insisting. He looked over his shoulder, his copper colored eye spotting the parts that were now left unattended as the dug was busy counting the profit he had made from denying the slave his purchase.

"You're sure about this?" the slave double checked before he did anything else.

 _Have I ever let you down before?_

The slave sighed one last time and as stealthy as the crowd would allow, approached the counter once more, the dug with his back to it. One foot slowly fell before the other, the left copper and the right crystal blue eyes on the slave were locked on to the bag of parts. So close, he stayed low to the sandy ground and lifted his left good hand, reaching for the neck of the sack. Steadily and slowly he gripped it, but the metal in the sack shifted upon his delicate touch, alerting the dug who turned quickly and spotted the slave attempting to take the parts he had been denied.

"Sky!" the dug shouted harshly.

 _Run!_

The slave tightened his grip on the sack and bolted. He moved as fast as he could, dipping past beings of all races, moving quickly through the crowded streets of Mos Espa, twisting and turning. He dared to look back, only to see the dug and his gang tailing him. Going home wasn't an option. He would lead them straight to him. He needed a place to hide, to lose them. He turned into a tight alley, moving his way through trash and thick sand, slipping into another crowded street, the blisters on his feet under his poor excuse of shoes raging in agony. He ignored them, as he had gotten used to, and refused to look behind him. He couldn't stop. Not yet, he had to keep running. Parts were more important than water and the moons were rising while the suns were taking their rest, dusk was nearly over, night was approaching and it was damn near impossible to see your way in the desert at night.

The slave kept on running; cutting through one alley. Then another and then another. Moving and pushing past everyone and everything that got in his way, dipping under carts and tables, kicking up sand behind him. The beige substance had landed in his matching colored hair and clung to his tattered garbs. He moved swiftly and quickly, nearing as fast as the wind. He was always such a way. While many strived to be large and strong, the slave was always best at being lean and quick; he was better at it. Always better.

His ability to climb, even with one hand, never failed him. And so that is what he did. The slave climbed up one of the sides of the shops and hid, catching his breath and looking to the streets down below. He could witness the commotion taking place as the band of criminals continued to search for him, terrorizing the streets of Mos Espa. He nearly snickered to himself as he watched them argue over where to look next. He rolled his eyes at their inability to agree on anything before turning over on his back and easing his breathing.

He sat up then, crossing his legs and placing the sack of stollen- well, they were paid for- parts onto his lap as he checked to make sure all was accounted for, and it was. A successful day in the market for the young slave; despite the group of gangsters out looking for him.

 _Time to go home._

"Just as I was thinking," he says to himself as he loaded the smaller sack into the larger one that carried his newly acquired hand and other parts. He eased it down to the ground and jumped off of the roof next to it. He slung his bag of parts over his shoulder and was sure to stay in the shadows as he left the dangerous city and began to make his way to the suburbs.

* * *

Sand had found its way into his boots, seeping between his toes and clogging up his blisters, rubbing against them, making his feet hurt more. They were the first things he tended to upon reaching his small home, vacant from most parts of society on the already empty planet. He set the bag of parts down on his table and removed his bag-like boots from his feet, dumping the sand onto the floor. He examined his feet; soaked with blood and peeling skin, sand clinging to them. He brushed them off as best as he could, but water could not be wasted to clean his feet. Dry remedies like brushing off the sand with his good hand was all he could afford to do. He guzzled down the small portion of water that he allowed himself to consume before getting started on the parts.

The hand was first, since that was the most valuable piece if he wished to work on the pod or the weapon he was constructing. Working one handed was never easy, yet somehow, he managed. His left hand- even though he was right handed before the "accident"- did all of the clumsy work as he attempted to make the hand he worked on usable again. At the moment, it was intact, but many wires and pieces had been cut off from the larger mechanics that it had once been connected to. The issue was not constructing it, but rather, making it able to run on its own without having to rely on the power supply it had gotten from it previous source. It was nearly in mint condition, aside from the busted wrist part of it, but it would serve him well once he had it working again. It was difficult- especially in the dark- but the young slave had worked in harsher conditions before.

A bright zap of sparks fluttered upwards and caused the slave to nearly fall over in his seat, but he calmed himself and pulled himself back to the project. "This is in really good condition for something that is about a hundred years old," he says as he gets close to the project, rewiring the mechanics of the hand.

 _Exactly why I instructed you to ask for this one specifically. Once you get it working on its own, it will be like you aren't missing a hand at all._

"Were you able to feel things with it?" he asked. "Could you feel sand? Water? Flesh?"

 _I always wore the gloves._

"Even before?" The slave arched a brow and looked up from his project and towards the corner of the room. "Even before you fell?"

 _No, not before. But most of the time, even before I ... fell, I usually wore gloves._

"Part of the uniform, I guess." The slave shrugged, setting down his tweezers and rubbing his eyes with his left hand, feeling sleep beginning to take them over. He then reached over and grabbed the handle of the weapon he was working on repairing as well, examining it and calculating how long it was going to take before he had it working again. "I see sparks of the color when I mean to use it," he said. "Bits of red sparkle, but it never fully works. I can never get the blade to stay longer than a few seconds. I think it should only take me a few more days before it is usable, though."

 _Good. You learn fast and are greatly skilled._

"One thing I don't get though," the slave said, setting down the weapon. "You don't want me to become that, yet you have me collecting all of these parts. You should see Ben with your old helmet. He worships it like a relic. Prays to it, even. Why have me collect and repair all of this if you don't want me to become this?"

 _You are only trained with the Dark Side, and that is something neither of us can ignore. The family will always use the Light and the Dark. I used the Light and the Dark. You will use the Light and the Dark, and once that weapon is repaired, you will use it for both; Light and Dark._

"It's a Sith saber," the slave argued. "How can I use the Light with a Dark saber?"

 _You will. I will teach you._

"Not even you did that."

 _You're right, but I know how to use both sides. Once you master the ways of the Light, things will fall into place. Trust me._

The slave sighed, resting his chin in his good hand. "I still don't see why you want me using all of this stuff. Why can't I use the blue lightsaber?"

 _Someone else is already in possession of it. And it is hers. To keep._

The slave sat up and his eyes grew wide. "Rey?"

 _That lightsaber goes to her, yes. I would not have it go to anyone else. Even Ben attempted to take it, but he could not. Rey is the owner of it now, and you get this one._

"Oh, I am flattered." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Make the obvious sibling the perfect choice to turn into the next most feared being in all of the galaxy. Are you trying to get me to become a Knight?"

 _Never. I want you to repair my flaws, as I know you can. Rey is just discovering her powers, and rather than risk her becoming obsessed with the Dark Side- like myself and Ben- I rather have her stay and learn the Light. You already know the Dark Side, now it is time for you to discover the Light, Ani._

"When will I see Rey again?" he asked sadly. "When will I be able to leave?"

He looked into the corner of the room, where the shimmering blue figure sat and spoke to him, the voice in his head now there, in the closest thing to flesh that he would become. He was guiding him, protecting him. He managed to save him from the Dark Side, but unfortunately, Ben was too far along and Rey did not use the Force at the time. But Anakin ... young Anakin Skywalker the Second, he could be saved. And he was. And if he could not save all three of his grandchildren, he would accept saving at least one. Especially this one. The one burdened severely since birth. The one who held his name- cleverly telling all he encountered his false name of Sky- and carried the great burden of his grandfather's shadow upon his shoulders. He was nearly harvested like a pig awaiting slaughter before by Snoke and his own cousin. He was already driven into insanity by the torment and the hopes that he would become who the previous bearer of his name had been. If he could not save all three, Anakin was the one he owed the most to.

"You'll see your sister soon, Ani," the Force ghost of Anakin Skywalker promised his grandchild. "I will get you off of this planet just as I assisted you in getting away from the First Order. You'll be home soon. I'll get you there. I promise."

* * *

Again, a test pilot. Let's see what this chapter gets. If you guys like it, I'll write more. If not, I'll discontinue it. Thanks for reading.


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